Hung Out To Dry
by Serena Bancroft
Summary: A new serial killer has the precinct on edge, and Jess's brother, Ryan Angell, helps her out on a case. We see the first shared Irish coffee. Part of 'Warmness on the Soul'.


**Title: **Hung Out to Dry  
><strong>Author: <strong>Serena Bancroft

**Series:** Warmness on the Soul

**Summary:** A new serial killer has the precinct on edge, and Jess's brother, Ryan Angell, helps her out on a case. We see the first shared Irish coffee. Talk of Shane Casey, partnering in the department, saving the world, and the 'gray area' ensues.

**AN1:** Still... out... of... canon... yikes. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't suffering from some writers block in this category... sorry. I hope this more or less makes up for my absence. I've been tinkering with this for months, trying to get it right... I hope it suffices.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own CSI: NY. Never have, never will. Besides, I like living in my fantasy world instead. I own that.

Jessica Angell was about to head home when her phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID, she answered, "Angell."

_"I think I'd like to call in that favor," _came the voice of Don Flack.

She chuckled, "I knew this day would come." And she did. Ever since he'd helped her deal with the major press coverage on the murder of Pauline Rayburn, he'd been teasingly hanging it over her head. She was glad they'd finally be getting this off the table.

_"C'mon, gimme some credit. I just caught a murder at a college party, and I've got about a hundred possible witnesses, and its just Danny and I interviewing..."_

"Let me guess, pretty much everyone is drunk out of their minds."

There was a pause before he answered. She imagined he was sweeping his eyes over the room. _"Pretty much."_

She let out a false exasperated sigh, "I suppose I could get over there. Where is this now?"

_"Look for the palm tree,"_ he said jokingly after giving her the address. Before she could ask, Flack hung up.

After a relatively short drive, she saw a large house, lights shining from every window, beer cans littering the front lawn despite the fact that the party appeared to be inside, and a plastic, blowup palm tree near the front door. She recognized the address and physical description from what Flack had told her and parked her car across the street. That, and the fact that it was cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape that began to sway in the gentle breeze that had picked up made the large house stand out.

Securing her gun and badge, she headed towards the house. Upon entering, she was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of alcohol, sweat, puke, and... coconut? She assumed the latter was due to the obvious beach theme of the party (and the college definition of 'beach' was apparently 'wearing as little possible around the opposite sex under the guise of festivity'.) After quickly scanning the crowd, a mixture of police officers and bewildered college kids, she spotted Detective Flack, his height making him fairly easy to spot. She waved, catching his eye.

She saw a relieved look cross his face as she made her way over to him. She nearly tripped over a kid passed out in a kiddie pool. "Must have been one hell of a party," she stated with a smirk.

"I don't think I've ever been so happy to see anyone in my entire life."

"Aw, what a welcome."

His answering smirk was followed by his arm swept over a half of the room. It was the side that had noticeably more people on it. "All these people still need to be interviewed."

Her eyes swept quickly over the mostly-scantily clad crowd. "Do I get the pleasure of interviewing that special individual?" Angell asked, gesturing to a young man whose hands were duct-taped onto forties. "He seems like a bright, young lad," she said, mock seriousness coloring her tone.

Flack chuckled. "Nope, I saved that one all for myself. 'Edward Forty-Hands' was his name."

Angell rolled her eyes, "They just think they're so clever."

The other detective rolled his eyes, "Tell me about it." She heard him mumble something that sounded like 'he called me 'bro'' in annoyance.

"Let's get this party started," Angell murmured as she headed off to interview a giggling redhead who was hanging off a young man wearing a grass skirt. And probably nothing else. Jessica refused to let herself dwell on the notion as she plunged into the interviews.

Several hours later, interviews were finished. In short, no one had seen or heard anything, and Danny said the one sober, normal-looking kid hadn't had an inkling of anything going wrong either. Flack was nowhere to be found, as he was probably up with the body.

She tried not to worry about it. This was Flack's case. She hadn't even been upstairs to see the body. If what she had heard was true, it wasn't pretty. She wished she could stay on this one, but the lieutenant had her called back to the precinct to check up on a hit-and-run that could possibly be a vehicular homicide. She gave up on her hopes of finding Flack and knew she'd have to just write up a few reports on the interviews she'd conducted and put them on his desk. With the thoughts of more paperwork on her mind, but the hope of having an interesting case, Detective Angell left the house.

**. . . . .**

When Don Flack sat down heavily at his desk and ran an exasperated hand through his hair, Angell had a feeling something was off. She hadn't followed the case's progress, as Flack had been out in the field all day. (Her hit-and-run was confirmed accidental and the case file passed off to a few senior officers.) She decided he looked awful, so when she stood to go to the break room, she came back with two coffees.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked reproachfully, setting the coffee in front of him. She was trying very hard not to engage her colleague, but she had a feeling that he needed to get something off his chest.

He sighed. "Yes and no." He took a sip of his coffee, realizing she'd gotten it exactly right- one cream, two sugars. (Not the manliest coffee in the world, he was the first to admit.)

There must've been a questioning look on his face because she said, "I pay attention." He could hear the subtle double meaning in her words. The coffee and his awful situation. "When I was helping interview, I heard the first responder lost his lunch in the bushes. A couple of officers who were up there told me it wasn't pretty, and that was it. I've yet to hear any details besides that she was beheaded." She flinched at that last word. Whenever that word was included in the case summary, it would never be good.

He sighed. "Her head was literally seared off, and she was hung upside down to drain her blood. Like she was an animal."

Her face paled considerably at the gruesome description. Ignoring any preconceived notions of boundaries between them, she reached over and squeezed his forearm comfortingly. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, eyes cold as ice, "Don't be. You didn't kill her."

"Promise me you'll find who did?" It sounded more like a question then she'd intended. She withdrew her hand and he noticed how cold his arm felt all of a sudden.

He nodded solemnly, about to say something else when his phone rang. "Flack," he answered brusquely. Angell watched carefully as his eyes darkened in anger and his jaw clenched. "Yeah. I'll be there in ten. Don't touch it 'til Crime Scene gets there."

Her expression was inquiry enough as he answered, "Just found the girl's head buried under a rock in Central Park."

Angell knew that the look on his face called for a bit of levity to the situation. She rolled her eyes, "So the killer brings the head with him? And yet, no one saw anything."

That managed to brighten Don's expression somewhat as he said, "Edward Forty-Hands, Angell."

She nodded, "I understand you, I'm just saying..." She returned to her paperwork, most of her cases being closed, but she was not anticipating staying at her desk for very long.

True to her prediction, Detective Carrie Nash approached her. Nash was a good detective. The black-haired, fair-skinned beauty of a detective who'd been promoted from officer shortly after Jessica's arrival had sharp observation skills, and a knack for reading people. There was a slight age difference, Nash being four years Angell's senior. The younger detective appreciated the fact that Nash never looked down on her due to her youthful age of 26 (she was apparently one of the youngest people to ever make detective. She was informed that only one person had beaten her in the precinct. She had no doubt as to who that was.) While at times she was slightly overly-clinical with the handling of her cases, Angell enjoyed working with Nash. "Angell, we got a DOA at a smash-and-grab jewelery store robbery." Detective Nash must have just noticed the lack of paperwork on Angell's desk. "Unless you were planning on leaving. I can probably just get Houlihan or Jefferson to come..."

Jessica stood up, "Trust me, Nash, when I say you do not want those two breathing down your neck at a crime scene. Let's go."

**. . . . .**

The robbery/homicide had been relatively unexciting. Two white males went in, needing cash, told everyone to get on the ground. One of the hostages tried to be the hero, and wound up with a bullet in her chest. They were able to nab both of the guys who'd done it trying to fence stolen merch.

The two were obviously not professionals- merely two desperate guys whose lives were going down the drain because of the economy. They were brothers, both laid off by a large conglomerate. One had a wife and two kids. The other had a pregnant fiancee and was drowning in student loans. She hated it, but hoped their lawyer could cut them a good deal.

She sighed at that notion. They just robbed a jewelery store out of desperation, and were in no position to get a good attorney. Angell recognized the public defender they'd been assigned. Nelson something. He was not at all bright, and that sometimes served the department well in putting scumbags away without much of a fuss. Now, she found herself not wanting the incompetent, bumbling lawyer to be unprepared to deal with a case that could easily be swayed to be in the good graces of the defense.

Jessica was snapped back to reality by a crowd of people gathered around the break room's small television that was frequently tuned to the news. Now, she watched as Shane Casey was loaded into the back of a police SUV.

She'd heard through the grape vine that Don's case morphed from being a simple murder of a college girl to a serial killing spree of a guy with a vendetta, and somehow Sheldon Hawkes had been on Casey's hit list. She hated to admit it, but she was planning on grilling Don for details when he returned. Another begrudged admittance, she was looking forward to telling him about her case, her frustration over the defense's incompetence, the inner feeling of betrayal whenever she hoped that suspects were not guilty, or got off easy. Said guilt was currently gnawing on her stomach.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, much less herself, that she'd begun to lean on him, the tiniest bit. Using him as a soundboard, venting about tough cases, celebrating big busts (she'd seen relatively few in her short time, but she knew there would be more.) She hadn't been there for long, but Flack was making her feel more a part of the New York crowd, even more so than those at the Crime Lab, who'd been nothing but welcoming to her. The fact that their desks faced each other didn't leave much room for distance, literal or otherwise.

After the news story about Casey ended, Jessica found her way back to her desk, starting begrudging on the paperwork of the robbery. Joseph and Lucas Callahan. She couldn't help the feeling that they were the victims here. Of course, she was sorry for the woman who was killed, a 25 year old whose whole life was left to live, but the feeling of guilt over arresting these two, and that of hoping they'd get off easy, was nearly overwhelming.

In the midst of feeling awful because she couldn't do anything, Angell realized that she could. She picked up her phone and entered her eldest brother's cell number with ease. One of the best defense lawyers in Santa Barbara, California, Ryan Angell and his sister were very close, despite her near-hatred of lawyers. He was married to a social worker, Lana Davis-Angell, and the couple had two children who Jessica doted on.

It rang twice before she heard Ryan's voice on the other line. _"Hey, String Bean. I wasn't expecting to hear from you,"_ he said, a smile evident in his voice.

Angell growled at the obnoxious nickname her brothers had given her when she went through a growth spurt at age 11, resulting in her limbs looking long and stringy. "Don't call me that," she warned.

_"You love it."  
><em>

"Knock it off, Ryan. I have a legitimate reason for calling," Jessica said with a smile.

_"And here I was thinking you just wanted my charming company."_

"We're on the phone, so you aren't exactly company," she said with a chuckle. "You owe me a favor, remember?"

_"I suppose I do. What do you need?"_

She sighed, "It may involve you jumping on a plane and coming to New York to come and represent someone."

A pause. _"What did you do?"_

She laughed aloud. "Jesus, Ryan, have some faith in me; I _am _an officer of the law after all. And before you ask, it's not for Millie or Vic." Her two childhood friends could be a handful when they wanted to be.

"I'm listening."

Angell described the case to her brother, his lawyer-mind soaking every detail up, immediately positing several scenarios for a defense. _"I see what you mean. Your run-of-the-mill public defenders might not be able to pull this off, not with the piranhas you guys have for prosecutors."_

"Let's just say this is the only time that I wish our suspects had a stronger attorney."

_"Isn't there some unwritten cop code you're breaking by calling me?"_

"Eh, probably."

She heard her brother chuckle. _"Okay. I'll take it... I won't be able to fly out though. I'm in court for the next few weeks." _Her silence prompted him to continue about the case. He knew she hated it when he took too many high-profile clients who were probably guilty, so he made sure to fill a lot of time doing pro-bono cases and represting people who wouldn't necessarily be able to afford a good lawyer. _"I'm representing a construction worker who was injuried at a site because of faulty machinery. Company he was working for was hoping to eke another few years out of the ancient stuff, but no such luck now. Turns out the registration wasn't even up-to-date. He'll be getting a handsome settlement." _

Angell would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy when her brother stuck it to the big guys. "Good."

_"Anyway, I've got some time though, so I can get on the horn with the prosecutor, handle things long distance. That way you'll be off the hook. You're lucky I love you, String Bean."_

"Nah, I'm just lucky my brother is an ultra-rich lawyer with time to kill."

_"Man, Jessie, that was low!"_

"And yet you're still on the line."

Another chuckle. _"Go save lives."_

She smiled, "Tell Lana and the kids I said hello" she said warmly. She adored her sister-in-law, and her niece and nephew.

_"Will do. Love you, kid."_

Jess rolled her eyes. Always rubbing it in her face that he was the oldest. "Love you too." She snapped her phone shut as she saw Don return to his desk. "Congrats on the arrest," she said with a smile.

He smiled, but she could tell somehow that his heart wasn't in it. "Thanks, Angell." She found herself standing up before walking to the edge of his desk, leaning on it. "What?"

"You don't seem very happy. Most detectives would be bouncing off the walls, 'cause let's face it, everyone wants to catch a serial."

He scrubbed his hand over his face. How the hell does she read him so well? Most detectives know him as the most unreadable person they'd ever met. Some of his colleagues had taken to calling him 'Ice' because he could freeze people out so well. And yet, he'd know Detective Angell for... what, less than three months? And she could read him better than his last partner... He cleared his head quickly. He didn't want to think about Moran.

"It's... complicated."

Jessica sighed inwardly, about to openly offer what she'd so forcefully refused from him. "Tell you what, let's go out for an Irish coffee. I know a good place." And she did, which surprised herself.

Flack's raised eyebrow, "_You_ know a good place?" he asked, having firsthand knowledge of her navigational deficiency.

"C'mon, don't say it like that. Little place, few blocks from my apartment. We can share a cab." He sighed, but Angell wasn't considering the words that we spilling out of her mouth. She just let her instincts go for a little bit. She knew she'd be kicking herself for it later... but Flack seemed to need a shoulder at the moment, and she knew what that was like. She would no doubt be borrowing his shoulder later on.

He glanced at the clock. His shift had ended hours ago, the serial killings keeping him around far longer than was required. He knew he shouldn't do this. He _knew._ If he was perfectly honest with himself, then he would've admitted that if they did not work together, he would have asked her out long ago. _Don't say yes. She'll understand and won't hold it against you. It's one word, two letters. No. _"That sounds fantastic right now." _Why are you doing this to yourself?_

Her answering grin shut up any of his logical arguments. "Great. I'm off in twenty."

**. . . . .**

"You weren't kidding," Don said as he sipped his Irish coffee. "I was almost convinced you were bluffing." He was telling the truth. He'd seen firsthand how awful she was at navigating. She couldn't help it- street names and directions just blurred together in her mind. Despite that, she found this place a few weeks after her arrival. A small pub called Charlie's Tavern. Imaginative, no? Owned by the elderly Charles Frittar, the pub was now almost entirely run and managed by his son, Charles Frittar, Jr. The small place opened in the twenties, apparently one of those 'hip-and-happening' places where the infamous flapper girls would go to smoke and drink, bootleggers could smuggle and sell their product without worry, and was considered by supporters of prohibition to be a blemish on the perfect society they had been hoping to create.

Angell's first trip there was solo, to check it out and see if she liked it or not. She preferred to develop her likes and dislikes by herself. She ordered a Guinness in a lonesome celebration of another case closed while she was still under Benton's wing. She and Charlie, who also acted as the bartender, had gotten to talking when he spied the gleaming, gold shield on her belt. He learned she was French Canadian, a dual US/Canada citizen, and a detective for the NYPD. She learned that he ran the pub after his father became too frail to do it himself, and was married with two kids.

Angell found herself coming back, trading stories with Charlie, and the bartender was quickly becoming a good friend. He'd toasted her success on closing her first solo case.

_"I did it," Angell said, pausing just inside the door to the bar. She easily spotted Charlie's tall, muscular form behind the flawless oak-accented bar._

_His wide grin met her as he broke out a shot glass. "Tequila?"_

_She sighed, "Not tonight. I'm driving," she said, jangling her keys as she sat down on a bar stool._

_"I 'spose it wouldn't be good if a cop got pulled over for drunk driving," he said jokingly._

_She chuckled, "Geniuses like yourself belong in our PR department."_

_"Was that a hint of sass, Detective Angell?"_

_"Stranger things have happened," she said nonchalantly._

_He rolled his eyes, "Just a seltzer then?"_

_She wrinkled her nose, "Ugh, carbonated water is at the ass-end of the beverage spectrum." She thought a moment, "I want something sparkly. 7Up?"_

_"You are disgustingly original," he teased, pouring her requested beverage into a glass tumbler. He dropped in a few ice cubes, and set it in front of her. "Here's to a murderer being off the streets," he toasted, holding up an Aquafina water bottle that had somehow materialized in his hand._

_"And to many, many more," she responded. The respective glass and plastic clicked together, their owners taking toast-worthy sips._

Angell considered him her first friend she made outside the precinct. The fact that she was making friends outside of work stunned her just a little bit. While she was far from being reclusive, but she wasn't one who instinctively surrounded herself with friends. Anti-social was still a bit too strong. When she was young, she was much more likely to be found curled up in her room reading a book rather than partying with her friends. (Not that she didn't do her share of partying when she was young... she _was _quite popular, after all. She could never figure out why...)

She introduced Don as her partner which caught him off guard slightly. He resolved to ask her about it.

Jessica chuckled, "Yeah, I was reluctant about bringing you here," she said, the sarcasm palpable, "This is one of my closest guarded secrets."

"I can see why," he said, again complimenting the Irish coffee.

They were silent for a few moments. "Want to talk about it?" Angell asked. She saw the slightly haunted look in his eye, knew this case was horrible. Suddenly, she realized beating around the bush may have been more effective. When he didn't respond, she decided to talk first. Flack struck her as the kind of man who would open up a bit if she did. "My case was awful," she began, and she saw his attention was immediately piqued.

"What happened? Nash mentioned that it was pretty routine..."

Angell nodded, her middle finger beginning to slowly circle the rim of her glass. "It was. Just your average armed robbery at a jewelry store, and someone tried to play the hero and was killed for it." His silent look urged her to continue. "The two robbers were brothers, both in their late twenties, and both were laid off by the Monsanto Company." The way she said the company's name made it sound like a dirty word. She was all too familiar with the unethical organization.

"Never heard of them," Flack replied, taking a sip of his Irish coffee.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously? They're only the most unethical company in the world! They sue small farmers for trying to grow organic, ethical food, and if they don't win the lawsuits, it doesn't even matter because the farmers are drowing in legal fees! With bankruptcy knocking on their door, Monsanto takes over, and starts growing their alien-produce. Did you know that they're the foremost producers of genetically-modified food? Some genetically-modified corn can even cause botulism. _Botulism. _And the crazy things is, it's completely legal." Her impassioned tone shocked Don quite a bit. Why on Earth would she know about this? Did she find this out with her case? Her next thread stopped his train of thought. "Oh, and they also are the inventors of the handy-dandy, and 'somehow' highly poisonous Roundup weedkiller. The stuff wreaks havoc on ecosystems and had been proven to be able to kill unborn children..." she trailed off, realizing how crazy she sounded. "Okay, wow, sorry about that. I get, um, carried away sometimes."

He gave her a soft half-smile. "Nah, it's interesting. You just know all that stuff off the top of your head?" He swore he saw her blush as she looked down.

"Yeah, I'm kind of into the 'Save the Planet' stuff. Have been for a while. I'm not a whack about it, but..." Angell suddenly felt _very _awkward. She didn't precisely know why, but it didn't change the fact that her cheeks were turning redder by the second.

He leaned forward, "Don't be embarrassed about it. I think it's awesome."

She looked up, brown orbs meeting blue. Her embarrassment, and thankfully the blush, seemed to retreat for the time being. "Thanks. I guess it's not really something I talk about all that often... A story for another day, I suppose." She changed gears again, her brain reminding her why she wanted to talk to him in the first place. "Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand. These two brothers were laid off by the same company. They've been out of work for months. One's got a wife and two kids, the other a fiancee with a baby on the way." Don nodded slowly, able to track her train of thought. "I just think its unfair."

"I agree with you. The whole right versus wrong dilemma. Sometimes our job paints every action as either good or bad, but what we don't realize is that there's a hell of a lot of gray out there."

She sighed, a sudden weight off her shoulders. How worried had she been that he wouldn't agree with her? "Thank you for saying that. I was worried that you wouldn't and that I might have made the wrong decision."

"What decision?"

She hoped to God he would still be on her side. "I called my brother. He's a defense attorney in California. He's one of those lawyer who all the corporate bigwigs want to hire to get them off the hook for all their dirty dealings. He tries to stay away from those awful companies like Monsanto, 'cause if he didn't I probably would never talk to him ever again." He chuckled at that. Angell struck him as the kind of woman who could effortlessly hold a grudge, for years, even. "I asked him to help out the public defender."

"Hm."

"That's all you can say?" He noticed that her tone was worrisome. The notion that she cared about his opinion made him smile.

"I think I agree with you there, too."

"Really? Because... I keep reminding myself, they killed someone. They killed a person. They ended a life prematurely. But I can't help but feel... sympathy. And I can honestly say, I don't make a habit out of sympathizing with murderers, because what kind of person would that make me, you know?"

Their conversation lulled as Charlie delivered another round of Irish coffees, but Don soon picked up where she left off. "I always think the best police officers, or detectives for that matter, can relate to any situation."

"It still feels wrong."

"I know. What I can't help but think is that they were not there because of their own choice. I suppose they made the wrong one in trying to commit a crime, but I can understand their motives. Desperate people can be dangerous."

"I suppose you're right," she conceded.

"Of course I am," he said with a roguish smile.

She chuckled, "Ah, the ego in this one..." His grin turned into a soft smirk.

"But yes, I do agree with you about calling your brother. They're not criminals. Just desperate. From what you've told me, I imagine they'll be feeling this guilt for the rest of their lives. It would be a safe bet to say they won't be committing any more crimes in the future." He knew she was in agreement when she didn't say anything. He had a feeling the venting helped her, but at the core of it all, she was a police officer. Her blood was as blue as it comes. Any sympathy towards someone who'd broken the law could wreak havoc in her mind. He knew, because he felt similar emotions a lot.

"I don't know. I feel like if I hadn't done anything, the jury would probably have issued a light sentence anyway. And parole is a very viable option," Jessica mentioned.

"Stop worrying yourself, would be my advice. You said one of them had a kid on the way?" Angell nodded slowly. "Okay then, imagine how grateful he'll be when he gets to be there for the birth of his child. I'd take that as a win and move on."

"I suppose," she said, sounding not 100% convinced. He had a feeling his words would need to marinate for a while, and decided to change the subject.

"Shane Casey was out for revenge," he said suddenly. He noticed her eyes lose the far away look they had before and become sharply focused on him. It was an interesting feeling, being at the center of Jessica Angell's undivided attention. "His brother was found guilty of a crime Casey thought he didn't commit; the day after the sentencing, Casey's brother hanged himself in his cell. And so he was going after everyone related to the guilty conviction and his brother's eventual demise."

"The girl?"

"The jury forewoman. The second victim was the bouncer who ID'ed Casey's brother. The defense attorney and Hawkes were next."

She shivered. "I'm just glad you caught him before he could kill again."

"Yeah, he's definitely one who would be a repeat offender if he stayed out on the streets. Although, I can say for sure I would not have been able to get him if it weren't for Crime Scene."

"They're too brilliant for their own good," she stated wryly. She asked him about why he wouldn't have been able to nab Casey, and explained, "I haven't really followed the case."

He leaned back in his chair, "Shane Casey is the closest thing to a criminal mastermind I ever want to deal with. The man is an absolute genius. If Mac hadn't outsmarted him, it would be safe to say that Hawkes would most certainly be under Sid's knife right now."

"Criminal mastermind?" Angell repeated, a questioning tone.

"Hid all the answers in these T-shirts. A lot of puzzles and nonsense, if you ask me. You should see the war room at the lab. Absolute mess."

"I'd imagine so. Sounds incredibly complex." She paused remembered something that had been bothering her. "Why'd he take the head?"

Don scrubbed a hand over his face. "Greek mythology."

"Greek mythology?" she repeated.

Flack nodded. "Apparently, there was some story about Hercules slaying a nine-headed dragon. If he chopped off one of the heads-"

"Two would grow back, so he had to sear them off instead. And when the Hydra was dead, Hercules buried the last head under a rock," she finished, almost absent-mindedly.

A large smirk graced his handsome features. "And she knows Greek mythology, too." His tone was teasing, but the mirth that was evident in his eyes wasn't cruel.

She chuckled, "She does when she had a crush on her eleventh grade Ancient Histories teacher. Mr. Nelson. My god, the body on that man..." she trailed off with a smile.

Flack laughed, "You were one of those? C'mon, Angell!"

"What? He was the swim team coach and was very attractive! Plus, its not like I ever acted on anything! A) I had a boyfriend, and B) he was probably about twenty years older than me. Don't tell me a 16 year old Donald Flack never lusted after the hot librarian," she said with a knowing smirk.

He laughed at her expression. "Ugh, Mrs. Clifton would've never gone for me. She was more into the pudgey-with-thinning-hair types. Zero sense of humor was a bonus."

"You two sound perfect together," she answered, straight faced.

He chuckled, "You wound me, Angell."

They were silent for a few minutes, just enjoying the other's company while sipping their Irish coffees. Don was the one to break the comfortable silence. "So I'm your partner now?"

Her expression was confused a moment before breaking into a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that. I didn't really know what else to say. Plus, there's I've heard rumors of large-scale partnering in the department."

"I've heard that too. Sinclair and a few of the Up-in-ups think its a good idea, especially since they're trying to crackdown on cop corruption. They seem to think some sort of liability system would improve the situation. If you ask me, _they're_ the ones who need a corruption crackdown."

"I couldn't agree with you more. I'm still not really sure why they think it's a good idea, especially the whole bridging the gap between the departments..."

Flack cocked his head. "This, I have not heard."

Angell leaned forward, resting on her elbows. "The 'up-in-ups', as you so affectionately called them, seem to think that better communication between the departments might cut down on number of crimes committed, mainly between Narco and Homicide. Vice and Robbery will probably get in on the action too, but... mainly Narco and Homicide. They're actually considering making a whole new department, combining the two and thus making the two seperate divisions obsolete."

Flack's face was borderline between 'priceless' and downright 'scary'. "That's such bullshit! If they knew anything about how the police operated, they would know that forming one department out of two _will not work._ Only something like thirty percent of the homicides we deal with wind up involving Narco. They're treating every homicide as though they were linked with drug activity! Is Sinclair fighting this?"

"He better be. I one hundred percent agree with you. I'd bet a paycheck that these people who are pushing these policies have never even been involved in the police department before. We have our seperate divisions for a reason. Because the way they are works. And it's also as skimmed down as it can get. Everyone knows that Vice hasn't updated its eqipment in years, Robbery had to let go of a quarter of its funding, the entire department needs new Kevlar, the patrol cars need to be refurbished... I'm sure the majority of the reason they're pushing this is because of the city budget, and the NYPD gets to take the hit. They probably think combining Homicide and Narco is the only way they'll be able to follow through on all these cuts the city has to make."

Don nodded, impressed with her logic, and also how she knew so much about the department already, despite her short time here. "How do you know all of this?" Flack asked playfully.

She chuckled, "I must have a face you can trust. That, or I have badass eavesdropping skills. Either way, people tell me things, and I definitely keep my nose to the ground when something like this comes up."

"It's still a shit piece of legislation and Sinclair better fight it. Gerard too. Because, despite the fact that I'm not a big fan of either of them, they are still cops." Flack respected the two men well enough, but he sometimes felt as though when they weren't on the streets themselves, seeing everything that the officers or the detectives did, they didn't see the reality of the police department any more.

"And hopefully, they'll see how purely _stupid _this idea is."

"Amen." They both sipped on their respective Irish coffees. "Even if they don't combine Homicide and Narco, I have a feeling a few homicide detectives are going to be paired with a few from Narco."

Angell shrugged. "It's certainly possible. You never know, more ties with Narco might do us some good." Her words were hopeful, but her tone wasn't quite there.

"I appreciate your optimism," he said dryly.

She smiled wryly. "Pessimism in our line of work is never productive."

"I'll drink to that," he said, as he raised his glass. She mirrored his actions, and they downed the last of their respective Irish coffees.

"Hey, you never know, even _we _might become partners," Don suggested.

Jessica cocked her head. "How so?"

"We're the two detectives who work most closely with the crime lab. That practically makes us partners already."

They realized they'd been talking nearly non-stop for two hours. Flack didn't even notice the time flying by. Angell was so easy to talk to, so non-judgemental, witty, and intellegent, it seemed as though they hadn't been talking long at all.

He didn't know it, but Jessica's sentiments were the same as his own. "We better get outta here," she said, trying to not let her disappointment show.

They exited the bar, and Flack hailed a cab. He was about to get in, and asked her, "Coming?"

She shook her head. "I only live a few blocks from here, remember?" She saw a worried look cross his face. "Oh, I'll be fine, worrywart."

"Worrywart? What are you, twelve?" he teased as he slid into the cab.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she called after him, as she turned and began the short trek to her apartment.

As pair walked out, side by side, Charlie watched them as they left with a grin on his face. He thumbed his wedding ring and wondered how long it would take them to realize what was right in front of them...

**I brought Jess's oldest brother, Ryan Angell, into this series a lot sooner than I expected. I sort of added him on a whim. And Jefferson and Houlihan are going to make repeated appearances. If you don't know who they are, you can read about them on my profile, or just toodle on over to my two-shot First Impressions (which I'm considering to re-write... again.) **

**And about the Moran bit... I'm not sure if Moran was actually Don's partner when he worked Robbery. I'm not very familiar with seasons 1 and 2, but I've seen enough to be able to piece some things together. Anyhoo, if it's inaccurate chalk it up to AU and leave it at that. If it's seriously bothering you, PM me and I can do a little changerooing.**

**I'm also considering a rewrite to Undercover. I've read through it, and I can't help but think how two-dimensional the plot is, how short the dialogue pieces are, and how much more I could've done with it. I've begun to outline a rewrite (the basic structure will stay semi-the same, but things will get really different, really fast.) I've done a lot of research regarding undercover operations, and I'm starting to realize how unrealistic my story is. And if you know me, you know how much I hate getting things wrong. Call it an ego. Anyway, I've started a basic outline of things I want to change, but I don't know if I'll actually do it. We'll see what school and sports put on my plate.  
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